Thoughts of a Warlock
by Autunno
Summary: He had written many letters over the years, brimming with emotion. Some were finished, others were left open-ended. Some made their way to the lake's gentle waters, while others were left to gather dust.
1. Change (Modern Times)

" _Dear dollophead,_

 _Everything in this world has changed so much since you've been gone. Everything except for me. Because that's what you would have wanted._

 _~M."_

However, that's not as simple. Not as easy.

The light in his eyes had gone out a while ago.

He scurried across the square, avoiding as many people as possible. His smell sent those around him splitting like the Red Sea, holding their breath until he passed.

Long haired, aged, and cranky, he had a permanent snark on his face. It was as if in his old age, he woke one morning with an ache in his back and his face had never managed to ease back into something more… normal. Only pain filled and bitter.

A young baker noticed him walking by and per usual, rushed out to meet him with a sample of bread. She stopped short, watching as two boys ran out in front of him from the nearby alleyway. They were playing with sticks.

The man stopped to watch as well, a smile forming on his face at their pretend play.

She had never seen him smile before. Never seen the bitterness fade. He looked younger for a split second. Bright eyes. Short, brown hair. A handsome, young man.

The boys stopped, apologizing once they realized they had blocked his way. The one in the front grinned like a young charmer, untrimmed hair framing his face. Behind him stood the second boy, who took a hold of the back of his friend's shirt and tugged him out of the way.

"Uh, mister? Would you like bread?" She offered the sample on a stretched out tray.

"No, thanks," his voice, while gravelly, sounded grateful. "I'm sure these _young knights_ here would though."

She laughed, setting the tray on a stool by the corner of the shop. The boys took their share, hurriedly stuffing their mouths.

The man tipped his head to her and patted one of the boy's heads before continuing on his way.

"Gwen!" He stopped, turning to watch as she dashed back to the front door. "Your dad was on the phone! He said he needed you at the auto shop!"

Quickly, Gwen slipped off the apron, handing it back to the baker as she took her bag.

"I can-"

"Don't worry about it." The baker shooed her off.

Merlin watched as she went, smiling. He hadn't approached her first, in fact, he had avoided her, unaware of exactly who stood in front of him. But, it didn't matter. She gravitated toward him like she knew him since birth. A friend.

Kilgharrah had reassured him before his passing that some friendships really do transcend lifetimes.

How right he could be at times.

If Gwen was here, just entering high school and the knights were already growing up fast, only several years behind her, playing with, unsurprisingly, make-shift swords, then Arthur couldn't be too far behind.

Back at home, Merlin lifted his head from the sink. His short hair had returned, as did his youth. His didn't look as much of a boy anymore. The years had put a maturity to him, but it couldn't stop the shine his eyes. Or the grin that just wouldn't fade.


	2. Poetry (Around Renaissance Era)

_Dear dollophead,_

 _Funnily enough, I've come to really enjoy poetry. I've even read you a couple of my favorites while waiting by the lake._

 _~M._

The lake was peaceful. Quiet compared to the dirty streets of London. The world continued to spin of its own axis. Round and round until everything had changed.

He missed Camelot. It had been lost to time, neglected. And no London street could compare.

Today, he sat under the shade of a tree, a new book in hand. His finger followed along as he read, sometimes stumbling over unfamiliar words. He slowed, looking at the lake's rippling surface, a tear in his eye.

"I swore I saw Gaius today…" Merlin swallowed hard.

Setting the book aside, he stepped into the water, only ankle deep. He plopped himself into the water, tears blurring his vision, not caring that he got wet.

"Treason doth never prosper, what's the reason? For if it prosper, none dare call it Treason."


	3. Letters (Before Renaissance Era)

_Dear Dollophead,_

 _Sometimes I wish there was a way to get these letters to you. The only problem is, I don't think the Sidhe make the best messengers._

 _~M._

The stack of paper sat hidden in his bag. He ignored them. Even when a gust of wind blew them from his bag to lay next to him, he ignored them.

Some of the letters he had written over the years drifted out, tumbling over patches of grass and dirt, letting the breeze carry them to the water. They floated for a bit before going under, flittering themselves down to the bottom.

Merlin watched as one by one they disappeared beneath the surface. Memorized. Too soon, they were all gone.

Grabbing some parchment, Merlin set to work on his latest letter. He addressed it to Arthur and sealed it with wax.

Tentatively, he set the letter down on shallow water, watching as the current pulled it in before sinking it down.

 _Arthur… I think I found a way._


	4. Fathers (Several Centuries Have Passed)

_Dear dollophead,_

 _One of the many (many, many, many) things I never had the chance to tell you was about my father._

 _Please do not think differently of me because of the man he was, just like I don't think differently of you because of who was yours…_

 _~M._

 _PS: Remember that we are not our fathers, Arthur. And we never will be._

* * *

He sat alone. Stiff. An eerie silence surrounded him as at long last he was alone. Not a living soul knew his name, but the druids who he actively avoided.

At some point in time, his name would have been said with love or perhaps with a bit of chiding in their tone. Years later, it had been shouted through stone corridors and in forests, sometimes chiding, sometimes angry (mostly angry), and occasionally in worry.

Recently, it had come off the tongues of strangers. Unfamiliar to such a name, matched to an unfamiliar face. His name, his face, forgotten by the end of the day. Blurred with thousands of others. Unimportant. Alone, his thoughts wandered to his mother, his father, Gwen, the knights, and even Mordred and Morgana. Arthur appeared in every replaying memory. All the times he lied, covering the truth with humiliating stories.

The truth had only come to light when it was too late. Had he only said something sooner… It may have stopped, at least, delayed the inevitable.


	5. Tethered (Unaging, He Has Left Camelot)

_Dear Dollophead,_

 _You know, we're supposed to be two sides of the same coin. That's how I know you'll be back someday. Because I'm still here._

 _~M_

Guilt-ridden, Merlin rowed his boat out to Avalon. He sat on its shore, eyes puffy and red.

If not already dead, his friends grew older by the minute while his youthfulness remained under his aging guise. It took too much energy to pretend while he knew they would pass on and leave him behind.

Gwen's time was near and Percival remained the last night of the original round table. He no longer could fight due to several, severe injuries, but he did well in providing counsel.

Merlin didn't move from his spot but spent several nights sleeping beneath the stars. The trees would wake him when the wind danced through the branches, making them play to their whimsical beat. The water lured him to sleep with moonlight glancing off the small of the lake.

Here he would wait. Doing his best to keep the light in his eyes, Merlin will wait upon the shore of Avalon for his king to return.


	6. Always an Ass (Unknown)

_Dear Dollophead,_

 _There was a time where I thought I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass._

 _That was my mistake..._

 _Because you were the best one I could have asked for and -_

Being one of the first letters he had attempted to write, it sat in a dusty old box filled with unfinished and finished letters. None that had made their way to Arthur through the lake around Avalon. It would remain there, trapping feelings of anger, morose, and guilt until curious eyes would open them. Would read them. Each piece of paper, whether whole or scraps until they were either done or caught in the act.

Either way, it would be quite a long time before they were seen. The pages would wait, as patient as ever.


	7. Value of the Word (The Correspondent)

_"I know I'm just a servant and my word doesn't count for anything..."_

 _Oh, Merlin, you fool. You were always such a prat._

 _Stupid._

 _Stupid..._

 _No, that's a lie. You are intelligent, brave, goofy at times, and always loyal. I valued your opinion. Even here I do._

 _You can't hear me now, but... Never change. Never change, my friend._

Arthur set aside another letter. Finding some spare paper, he grabbed his pen and set modern ink to ancient paper once more. A few minutes later, it joined the thousandth stack that surrounded his desk like delicate towers. He rolled his shoulders and stood, planning to take a break for now.


End file.
